


there's something wretched about this (something so precious about this.)

by lostmemoria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Blood and Gore, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Marriage, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Past Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Revenge, Serial Killer Lydia, also ooc stiles?? maybe??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmemoria/pseuds/lostmemoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first kill left her hands cold at eighteen, but it left her body warm and wanting more.</p><p>Or: Jordan and Lydia share a bond that goes more than just murdering people and getting rid of the bodies together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's something wretched about this (something so precious about this.)

**Author's Note:**

> **Please Read.**
> 
>  
> 
> First of all, a super big thanks to [KaelsMiscellany](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany) (@whenwolfsbaneblooms on tumblr) for betaing this. I don't think this fic would have existed the way it does now without her! Secondly, the fic does contain some triggering elements such as the mention of rape in Lydia's past. Nothing graphic is described but because of what happened to her, it does drive her to do the things she does in the fic. I think I tagged mostly everything but if I missed something, do let me know in the comments. Also, this is the first time I'm writing a serial killer/dark AU/verse, so I hope I did it somewhat justice and you guys like it.
> 
> Title taken from the song [From Eden by Hozier.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmWbBUxSNUU)

She’s not Lydia Martin tonight.

She’s Ally, a so called fashion major from a university in Europe who’s on vacation for the summer in the states to visit a sister that doesn’t exist. Lydia’s bright red hair is replaced by a dark brown bob that barely hits the curve of her neck accentuated by the strapless red dress she’s wearing tonight at the Sheriff’s ball, an annual charity event held by the Beacon Hills sheriff department that’s kind of a big deal in the small town that used to be her home.  
  
And the entire night that she’s been here she’s been flirting with the Sheriff’s son, Stiles Stilinski. Well, she wouldn’t really call it flirting because all she needs to do is laugh at the young man’s dumb jokes and bat her eyes a little at him and she has him wrapped around her finger. Too easy.  
  
“You—You remind me of someone I used to know,” he says out of the blue, his words slurring from all the alcohol he’s drunk as they sit next to each other at the bar, close enough for their knees to brush.  
  
Lydia’s grip around her martini glass tightens. She hasn’t really been drinking the entire night, just small sips every now and then. She needs to stay sober enough to get the job done tonight. “Yeah? Who?”  
  
He thinks about it, making an expression she remembers far too well, the one where he presses his thin lips together into a straight line, his eyes turning into tiny slits as he concentrates, his lanky fingers scratching through his wild hair. “I dunno, an ex maybe,” he finally replies, shrugging it off before grinning that stupid grin of his that she hates so much. “Wanna get out of here?” He leans in close to her, his hand crawling up her knee and she tries her best to not flinch.  
  
She forces a smile, lets his hand linger there as she glances around before giggling, “you’re the Sheriff’s son. Aren’t you suppose to be around here, you know, spending time with all the other old deputies?” She winks for good measure.  
  
He chuckles, his hand reaching higher up her leg and giving her thigh a good squeeze. Her gaze doesn’t break from his. “I’d rather spend time with you instead,” he says roughly and Lydia catches the scent of alcohol strong on his breath. It brings back a set of bad memories that she can never forget about, and she knows he’s definitely drunk. But not drunk enough to not realize exactly what will happen to him when she strikes.  
  
“Well then,” she leans closer, their lips dangerously close and she hears his breath hitch slightly, “how about I call my sister to tell her I won’t be coming home tonight and you meet me out by the back road? We’ll take my car, get a room for the night…” Her voice trails off as she slides off the bar stool. He follows suit, eyes trailing over her as he checks her out.  
  
“I’ll wait for you, we’ll walk out together,” he says, stumbling slightly as he reaches to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him.

His touch makes her jump, a cold shudder running down her spine and her first instinct is to pull away, but she resists, leaning into him instead. “Someone’s impatient, hm?”  
  
“Anyone would be with someone as fucking hot as you,” he replies, flashing her another grin as his hand slides down the small of her waist to palm her ass, but before he can Lydia pushes him away.  
  
He stumbles back, almost falling and to keep up her act, she lets out a flirtatious giggle again. “Back road. Ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting Stilinski,” she reminds before turning and strutting away, sashaying her hips a little because she knows he’s looking.  
  
She goes towards the back of the house then, moving swiftly through the crowds of people laughing and mingling together until she reaches the yard, a cold breeze hitting her body and making goosebumps wrack her arms. She gets cold far too easily, always having poor circulation ever since she was a child, it’s ironic to her since she’s cut off the circulation of over a dozen people in the past four years.

She walks out the back gate towards the woods surrounding the house that are still so familiar to her from all the bonfires she remembers attending there after every high school football game. High school, it seems so long ago. She’s changed so much that she’s sure if anyone from her high school saw her now, they wouldn’t recognize her. She’s grown from the sweet innocent flower she once was to the serpent hiding underneath.  
  
Soon enough she can see the clearing by the road where she told Stiles she had her car parked when really she doesn’t. But instead of heading directly towards it, she takes a left on the trail, walking through more trees before taking another left. She starts walking a little faster when she hears leaves crunching under hard boots behind her, so loud that she knows whoever it is, they’re not trying to hide themselves anymore.  
  
She feels cold rough hands push her up against one of the trees, a hand crawling up to wrap around the back of her neck, pushing her farther against the splintering bark while the other hand has a hold on her hip, pinning her there. She feels the heavy weight of who she only assumes is an older man—she can’t crane her neck and actually see her attacker—press against her back.  
  
“And just who are you, princess?” The voice isn’t one she’s familiar with, it’s cold with a tone that sounds like it’s either forever mocking, sarcastic, or both.  
  
Definitely both.  
  
Lydia clenches her jaw and bites down hard on her lip, almost drawing blood. She hates being called princess. _Hates it._ But she retaliates becausethe man made the terrible mistake of not pinning her hands instead, making her able to stretch her fingers just enough to ruck up the material of her skirt, grabbing the chinese ring dagger from her garter so that she’s gripping it tightly within her fingertips.  
  
“Don’t like to talk, I see? Well, sweetheart I have many ways I can make you—” He doesn’t get to finish because before he knows it, she’s stabbing him hard in the thigh and ripping a loud painful howl from him as he lets go of her.  
  
She slips away and throws him violently against the tree then with all the strength she can muster, just like Jordan had shown her; all the air leaving her lungs because she’s a tiny thing compared to her attacker who looks like he could be a good foot taller than her, but not as tall as Jordan at least. She examines him thoroughly, he has broad shoulders leading up to a short neck and a soft jawline covered with a faint goatee. But the most appealing part about him is his eyes, which are not only ice blue but also filled with a look that she’s seen too many times before on herself. A look ready to kill.  
  
And then it finally hits her. “You’re here to kill him _too_ ,” she snarls, holding the blade against his neck, right near his jugular. One slice and he’s a goner.  
  
Despite it, he smirks, the blood from where she stabbed him staining his jeans. “So we’re both here for the same things then.”  
  
“Doesn’t seem like it anymore. You’re not killing anyone with a bleeding thigh wound,” she retorts, removing the blade from his neck and stepping back. He can’t hurt her anymore, but she also knows that she can’t let him leave either.  
  
He takes a wobbly step towards her, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “Guess not. You’re a feisty thing aren’t you? Exactly how long have you been doing this?” His eyes roam her like he’s the predator and she’s the prey, but god is he wrong.  
  
She wants to tell him four years. That she’s been doing this ever since her mom kicked her out of the house for getting pregnant with a baby that she never wanted in the first place, that her mother blamed her when she was the victim, that _everyone_ blamed her when she was the victim. She wants to tell him that the first person she ever killed was a guy who offered her a bed to sleep in for the night only if she’d let him fuck her.  
  
The first kill left her hands cold at eighteen, but it left her body warm and wanting more.

It became her way to survive for a while. Putting up the innocent and helpless act, getting picked up by random older men who would promise her a meal or a nice bed to sleep in, and as soon as they took her to their place, she'd kill them. And she was always messy about it, but she loved it that way. It was a surprise that the police didn't track her down, but maybe it was because they thought it was the work of a man, early thirties, maybe around six feet tall and not of a five foot tiny strawberry blonde.  
  
But she doesn’t tell him anything. “Why are you after the Sheriff’s son?”  
  
He glances down at the dagger still gripped tightly in her fingers. “Maybe if you put that down so I know you’re not going to stab me in the throat, we can talk.”  
  
She could have easily said no, could have easily taken the two strides towards him and stabbed him in the meat of his pectorals over and over again until he’s dead. But that wouldn’t exactly be fun, would it?  
  
Instead she listens and bends down carefully, eyes still on him but also looking past his shoulder, and drops the dagger to the ground. He’s smirking wide when she regains her posture. “Now then, where were we? Ah, right. Why am I after the Stilinski boy? Let’s just say a little family revenge can’t be fulfilled without a little, or maybe _a lot_ of bloodshed now can it?” He’s full of too many rhetorical questions and it kind of makes her want to slap him across the face.  
  
“Who’d he hurt of yours?” She asks instead.  
  
“My nephew,” he replies a little nostalgic sounding before sighing, “Fell in love with him but then was stabbed in the back by him. Not literally though, of course. I mean in the heartbroken kind of way.”  
  
She scoffs, “and you’re willing to kill him for breaking your nephew’s heart?”  
  
“No. But when your nephew, the only person you have left of your family ends up _dead_ , then yes. Yes I am.”  
  
“Sorry,” she spits out, sounding anything but apologetic.  
  
He smiles at her. “Oh, don’t be sweetheart. In fact, I’d think us meeting is quite my luck. Like you said, I won’t be doing much with a bleeding thigh wound.” He applies his hand on the wound, pressing down for pressure and then limping towards her. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got a good hand there. You know that?” Lydia keeps her ground even as the distance between them closes, even as he traces his fingers lightly against her jaw and it makes her shiver. “I was thinking we can help each other out...Form an alliance of some sorts maybe? We’re both after the same things of course. And...I have enough experience to let you under my wing. Maybe teach you a thing or two.” His thumb brushes against her lower lip and she thinks, _now._ Now is the perfect moment to do it.  
  
Lydia smiles, red lips curving up into a bright but dangerous grin. “Yeah? You think so?”  
  
He nods, thumb parting her lips a little. “I could teach you so much…” he whispers, and the intention behind it is dark.  
  
She cocks her head, looking up at him from under her lashes. “I like the sound of that but...” Her voice trails off and he waits, thinking she’s going to continue but she doesn’t.  
  
And that’s when it happens, so quickly within a split of a second that Lydia almost doesn’t realize it until the man is stumbling away from her, fingers leaving her lips as they reach up to clutch the back of his head, throbbing in pain as blood stains his fingers. The smile on her lips widens, amused. “ _But_ I already have a partner, sweetheart,” she mocks, watching as he curses at her before falling to the ground.  
  
“Who knew metal baseball bats make such good murder weapons.”  
  
Lydia looks up and see Jordan standing in front of her, wearing a dark suit with red tie that matches with her dress. She didn’t expect him to be here at the Sheriff’s ball with her, and it surprised her when she caught him in the crowd when she was dancing with Stiles on the floor. Their gazes met for a brief second and it’s the only time Jordan’s accompanied her on an actual job. And she knows exactly why.

The baseball bat in his hand is now covered in blood, glistening under the moonlight like a trophy. She knows it obviously belongs to Stiles because she remembers him raving all about his collection back at the house. “I bet they’re also good for crushing someone’s skull in, hm?” She steps over the man who’s calling her a bitch now without much thought and walks over to Jordan, who gently slides his arm around her waist pulling her in close and it’s the only touch that makes her feel warm, safe, loved.  
  
“The honors all yours,” he says, smiling as he hands her the bat but Lydia shakes her head.  
  
“Not yet. I have something else in mind actually.” She saunters away from him then and he watches her with intense eyes that makes her stomach coil with want as she steps on the man who’s still whispering expletives at her. She smiles, pressing the heel of her stiletto into his chest and making him gasp for air as he bleeds out. “What did you call me before? _Princess?_ Well, guess what. You’re wrong. Because I’m the motherfucking red queen.”  
  
She crushes his face in with the heel of her stiletto over and over again until her heel chips off and breaks, leaving behind holes nearly three centimeters wide punctured into his head.

“Lyds.” Jordan’s the one that stops her before she breaks the other heel of her stiletto by gently wrapping his hand around her wrist, bringing her back.

She looks at him and sees his gentle gaze, feels the way his thumb rubs soothing circles across her wrist. It calms her from the heat of the moment and without turning back to the body to admire her work, she cups Jordan’s face between her fingers and kisses him hard. It makes him moan as her hands tangle into his hair, wrenching his head back as she slips her tongue into his mouth artfully and he welcomes it with his own. Lydia kisses him aggressively, intensely, and sweetly all at the same time until they lose track of time, of air, and when she finally pulls away she bites down on his lower lip, teeth dragging against the soft flesh until she draws blood and then licks it away expertly, the taste sweet and metallic in her mouth. When their lips part, she stays close, breathing the same air as him and it makes her feel electric and dizzy at the same time. Jordan brushes back the hair of her wig, breathing heavily as he presses a kiss first against her forehead and then her cheek before reaching the corner of her mouth. Compared to her, he’s always been soft and careful with her ever since the beginning as if she’s something to be cherished despite all she’s done.  
  
He then slides his hands from where they’re wrapped around her waist to her stomach, stroking softly. “Are you okay?” He asks, worry in his tone and Lydia nods, reaching down to cover his hand with her own.  
  
“I’m okay. _We’re_ okay.”  
  
When Jordan’s assured that she’s alright, they take the personal belongings from the body, finding a gun with a silencer attached and a wallet with nearly $200 as well as an identification card with the name _Peter Hale._ Another name to add on their list, Lydia thinks, while Jordan pockets all the valuables so that he can get rid of the body.  
  
She slips out of her heels then, since there’s no way she can walk in them now and makes her way over to the metal bat, the blood dried up on it already. “I’m going to go return to this to its rightful owner,” she says steely, making him look up at her carefully.

“Do you need me to come with you?”

She shakes her head. “I need to do this alone.”

Jordan nods and doesn’t try to convince her about it, which she always appreciates about him. “Be careful. And take this.” He tosses her the gun with the suppressor and she catches it, flashing him a small smile before finally walking away to do what she’s been wanting to for the past four years.

 

 

&.

  
She told Stiles ten minutes, but it’s been more than that and yet he’s still there, sitting on the side of the road, his dress shoes replaced with converse that reminds her of the ones that he always used to wear in high school. When he sees her, he immediately gets up, and although she’s sure the alcohol’s probably worn off him a little he still stumbles on his feet. 

“Hey! For a second there I thought you’d stood me up.” He’s smiling silly but when she comes closer into view, barefoot and holding his bat, the smile starts to falter. “Hey, that looks like...like my bat. Where’d you get that?” His words come out slower as he looks her up and down, catching the dirt clinging to her dress. “Did you fall on the way here?”  
  
She smiles at him, and it’s anything but friendly as she steps closer. “I fell a long time ago,” she whispers, and before he can even ask what she means, she’s raising the baseball bat and swinging it hard, smashing it against his head with so much force that she hears something crack, and it’s definitely not the bat. Stiles falls on to the street, writhing from the impact, blood gushing out from his ears and from where she cracked his skull open, blood seeping into the cement. She knows for a fact that barely anyone uses this back road, she watched from the trees for a few hours each day when she came to town last week to make sure. She’s safe to make a mess.  
  
Stiles breathes heavily—or at least tries to—because the sharp collision to his head is making his whole body start to shut down, ceasing functioning. Just like her body had nearly four years ago, when Stiles fucked her when she was drunk. Raped her. He was her boyfriend but it was still rape, no matter what everyone told her. She remembers going to him when she found out she was carrying his child and him denying it. Denying he ever did anything, then blaming her for sleeping around. She might have been drunk but she remembers it, remembers feeling a painful soreness the next morning, remembers the bites marks that littered all over her body. If she had made Stiles place his mouth over one of them, she’s sure his teeth would be a perfect fit.  
  
Lydia twirls the bat in her hand, ignoring the cries and whimpers coming from Stiles as he tries to crawl across the street half drunk, half unconscious, his movements remind her of the way she tried to escape from him, all the times she screamed _no_ until her throat stopped working. Until her body went limp.  
  
He screams, but it sounds like white noise to her. She blocks it out, blocks it out just like he had blocked out her cries, and drags the bat across the cement, making the metal echo in the air between him and she knows he can hear it from the way he tries to get away from her.  
  
He can try all he wants though, because he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.  
  
It’s slow, tortuous, the way she keeps him alive while at the same time killing him. Just like he had done with her. When she ends it, she grabs his bloody face harshly, his brown eyes blinking at her and trying to register it and when he does, she sees the fear his pupils as he tries to look away. She jerks at his face again, forcing him to look at her. “Look at me, asshole. _Look at me._ ” She slaps him across the face and he inhales deeply and she hates that, hates that he’s still breathing. She wraps her hand around his throat and squeezes, chokes him until his eyes bulge out and as much as she wants to kill him like this, she hates getting her hands dirty.  
  
She pulls out the gun that Jordan gave her and places the barrel right against his head. At the same moment she pulls her wig off, removing it and revealing long strawberry blonde locks that spill down her back and shoulders because she wants him to see exactly who she is when she kills him.  
  
When he sees her, any breath that’s left in him is stolen away because he recognizes her. He tries to open his mouth, to utter her name, but she’s sure he’s just at a loss of words as much as she is. It surprises her, the fact that she has nothing to say towards the person who made her like this. Who ruined her life. So she says the only thing she can.

“Fuck you.”

She pulls the trigger, silent gunshot going off because of the suppressor, blood splattering everywhere along with brain innards.  
  
He’s gone and she should feel relief. But she doesn’t. She stands there in the middle of the road, a bloody mess at her feet and waits for solace to finally wash over but it never does. Her fingers tremble around the gun until it finally slips from her hand, clattering to the ground. She tears up, entire body shaking when her knees give out and she scratches them up falling onto the cement. It’s the first time she’s ever cried after killing someone and she doesn’t know why. She shouldn’t be crying, she should be happy. Happy that Stiles is finally dead, happy that she got revenge.

But what’s the whole point of revenge if she can’t ever change what happened to her?

As Lydia starts to sob into her hands uncontrollably, she feels two gentle hands on her shoulders and she doesn’t have to glance up to know that it’s Jordan. He doesn’t say anything to her, doesn’t try to pull her into his arms, just keeps his hands there considerately to let her silently know that he’s there for her. That he’s always there for her.

“I thought I’d be brave if I did this,” she chokes out, “I thought I’d finally be able to get rid of my demons, but it turns out I can’t, Jordan—I can’t.”

“You’ve been fighting your demons for the past four years, Lyds. If that’s not bravery, I don’t know what is.” His words soothe over her and she finally lets herself into his arms, burying her face into his chest, and he holds her until she doesn’t want to be held no more.

 

&.

 

She met Jordan two months after she was kicked out of her house, and by then she had already killed four men. But Jordan didn’t know that when he found her on the streets during a stormy night and drove her to a woman’s shelter that belonged to a close friend of his. During the drive, she remembers thinking of killing him too but she didn’t. Maybe it was because of his warm smile or generous eyes, or just because it was the first time a man picked her up with genuine concern over her.

Jordan was ex-military and a police officer, and a good man. Tall, sweet, with warm hands that she never wanted to let go of whenever she fell asleep on his shoulder when he would come visit her. She fell in love with him, fell in love with the way he helped people, the way he cared about them, the way he cared about _her._ He would ask her if it’s okay for him to hold her hand, to brush her hair back, and the fact that he held so much concern over making sure she was comfortable made Lydia’s heart swell in a way that she never felt towards anyone else.

And she was sure he felt something for her too, but they were both hesitant. She was eighteen and pregnant, he was twenty-four with a stable job, and everyone assumed that she needed time, space after what happened to her. But for some reason that wasn’t what Lydia wanted.  
  
She wanted Jordan, she wanted to start over, but also deep down she wanted to inflict pain.

Maybe that’s why the day after Jordan accompanied her to the clinic for an abortion, she killed another man.

Someone who followed her back to the shelter that night. He thought she was defenseless, thought he could overpower her, but he’d thought wrong. And when he pulled her into a dark alleyway she didn’t hesitate to stab him repeatedly in the gut with a pocket knife Jordan gave her for protection. It wasn’t suppose to happen, but looking back at it now, Lydia’s happy it did.

When she called Jordan up about it, because he was the only person she could trust—which was ironic because he was a police officer—she expected him to turn her in, expected him to take her to the police station to tell him exactly what happened. Expected him to see through her lies. But what she didn’t expect was him covering for her. Covering up the body.

That night was the only night that Lydia had ever watched Jordan get rid of a body.

And it was an art in its own way.

It took hours, days—she lost track of time. Not that she cared, because for some reason she felt completely calm as she watched Jordan strip the body of its clothes (which they later burned out in the woods), and leave it in a bathtub full of hydrochloric acid at his apartment. The acid would reduce the body to nothing more than brownish sludge and brittle bones. It took a few days—and lots of lemon to prevent the smell from seeping out of the apartment—but in those few days numerous things happened.  
  
Lydia stayed at Jordan’s house instead of the shelter and told him everything. She told him about the other men she’d killed, and about Stiles; and after everything she’d fully expected Jordan to hate her, to think she was a monster but no, he never thought that. He just held her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers when she finished talking and told her that everything was going to be okay.

It was the strangest yet most relieving thing she’d ever heard.

Jordan resigned from the force. She didn’t figure it out until they were nearly fifty miles out of town after dumping what was left of the body in a river just outside of it, the water contributing to more of its corrosion.

“Why’d you do it?” She finally asked after they’d been driving for hours.

He didn’t answer her right away, instead pulled off the road and turned off the engine before turning towards her. He offered her his hand and she took it, used to the way their fingers fit together by then. “Because I’m falling in love with you Lydia,” he told her, his lips brushing against her fingers and making her eyes flutter from his words, his gentle gesture.

And when he glanced up to look at her, she was the first to lean into him, moving closer until his lips were mere inches away from hers. Green eyes met hazel ones and Jordan’s fingers softly touched her cheek, making her lean into his touch. “I’m...I’m going to kiss you now,” He said, his words a whisper against her lips. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, wanting nothing more at that moment then to have her lips touch his and when Jordan finally kissed her, it was nothing like she ever felt before. It was better, it was beautiful, it was soft and sweet just like him.

And that was when Lydia realized that even monsters could be loved too.

 

&.

 

After getting rid of Stiles’ corpse, Jordan drives her to a diner that she used to go to a lot when she still lived in the town. They sit in the car in the parking lot with her legs in his lap, letting him put ointment on where she scraped her knees badly. She hasn’t said anything the whole drive there and Jordan hasn’t tried to make her either.

“Messy. So messy,” he says, wiping up the dried blood sticking to her skin and the way he says it, it’s meant to be teasing.

Lydia knows what he’s trying to do and she leans over, pinching his wrist playfully and making him wince but smile. “Shut up. You love me messy.” She slides her legs off his lap then, moving so that she’s sitting in his lap and straddling his hips.  
  
His smile grows a little wider as he rests his hands on her waist. “Sure, but cleaning up after you is quite the hassle sometimes.”  
  
“Well, I’m not sorry.”  
  
“Didn’t expect you to be,” he breathes, cupping her face and moving her hair back softly before he kisses her, this time much slower and softer than compared to when she kissed him in the woods.  
  
She hums, nose bumping against his slightly as she pulls away this time smiling. “Thanks for being there with me. That’s why you came right? Not just because of the baby, but because you knew this was important for me.”

He nods slowly, playing with her fingers, kissing her knuckles. “You don’t ever have to thank me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Now, I am. Because with you, I’ll always be okay.”

They sit like that in the drivers’ seat, with Lydia resting her head against Jordan’s shoulder while he traces figure eights into her arm soothingly, and she can smell the earth still clinging to his skin, can see the dirt stuck underneath his fingernails.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” She asks, and although killing anyone can never be considered the right thing, they’re way past the moral obligations of this.

“I do,” he whispers against her neck. “And I’m so proud of you. And I love you, and our baby loves you too.” He touches her belly, warm hands making her purr softly and there’s a short moment where her stomach growls in hunger, breaking the silence in the air. It makes him smile. “Sounds like someone’s hungry.” 

She bites her lip. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckles and then opens the door, helping her out. “Then c’mon, let’s go get you and the baby something to eat.”

They enter the mostly empty diner which is warm and toasty on the cold night and are led to a corner booth by one of the waitresses. Lydia orders an omelette with pancakes and french toast and Jordan a cheeseburger with fries. She steals a few of his fries, dipping them in her chocolate malt and he lets her like always. Two cop cars pass by the street, only one with its sirens on. But Lydia doesn’t seem to care though, too focused on the way Jordan holds her hand, his thumb brushing across her wedding band on her ring finger that’s engraved with his initials, just like his is engraved with hers.  
  
They pay for the meal with the money they got from Peter Hale and then walk out hand in hand, planning to stay the night before leaving the next morning.

 

 

&.

 

They got married at a private judge’s office on a Friday afternoon during the summer. Lydia wore the only white dress she had and Jordan rented a cheap suit. There was no one present for it, no pictures taken as they repeated the shortest and most streamlined vows ever, but for them it meant the world.

The rings they exchanged were stolen, from a jewelry shop in a town they visited a few weeks ago, machine engraved cheaply at an engraver in another city.

At eighteen, Lydia had never thought she would get married like this. She expected to have a wedding, a big one, and all her friends and loved ones there for her. But she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She was twenty-one, a murderess, and she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with Jordan Parrish.

 

 

&.

 

They drive to a motel right outside of Beacon Hills and check in under a married pseudonym, and as soon as they make it up to the dingy room that smells like mold and rain, the first thing Lydia does is pin Jordan against the closed door and kiss him.

He makes a surprised noise that echoes through her body, making the hot coil of desire that’s been pooling low in her belly burn up even more as she presses her body against his, and Jordan lets her take the reins. He wraps his arms around her waist, maneuvering them back towards the bed without pulling away from the kiss which she dominates in, with teeth clashing and tongues twining together before she drops down on to the bed and drags him down with her.

She’s quick at yanking his shirt off and would have been just as quick with his pants but he pulls away, breathless, looking down at her with desire blown eyes that she’s sure mirror her own. “Are you sure you want to—?”

It reminds her of the first time they had sex. It was in a motel room similar to this, maybe a little nicer, and Jordan was as gentle as could be with her. He undressed her with comfortable ease and mapped out the constellations of her body with his lips until she was soaking wet between her legs when he hadn’t even touched her yet. And when he did finally touch her, first with his fingers and then eventually with his mouth, he would sometimes stop for just a second and ask her if she was alright, if she felt good, and to make sure he wasn’t hurting her in anyway.

It was the first time she orgasmed more than twice in one night, the first time she saw stars explode behind her eyes.

“Yes, god, _please_ ,” she moans, stripping out of her dress and spreading her to legs open to touch herself. She opens herself up with her middle finger while simultaneously rubbing her clit in quick circles, throwing her head back against the pillows as her hair spills down her face. Her free hand runs up her sternum to one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between her fingers until it's pert and erect.

Jordan watches her with a certain hunger in his eyes before he joins her, the bed dipping under his weight and Lydia gasps when she feels his hands run up her legs to her inner thighs, so close to the tight hot clutch of her yet so far at the same time. He does it again, running his hands down her legs in reverse and she whines, frustrated, “ _Jordan._ ”  
  
He smiles as he kisses up her stomach to the crook of her neck, nuzzling her there in such an affectionate way that four years later, it still makes her smile. She feels his fingers dance their way down her body to the space in between her legs, tangling with her fingers for a moment before he’s pulling both of their hands away. She opens her mouth to complain but before she can he whispers in her ear, “C’mere.” He rolls them over so that she’s sitting on top of him and it only takes her a second to realize what he’s getting at.  
  
A devious smile crosses her lips as she scoots herself up until her thighs are nearly bracketing his face and he groans, “my gorgeous, gorgeous red queen.” He kisses her inner thigh and Lydia giggles, but it gets caught in her throat as soon as Jordan places his hand on her ass, tilting her forward until he’s able to kiss her aching cunt messily, replacing her giggle with wanton moans that fill the room as he starts to eat her out like a man that’s been parched for far too long. He wastes no time parting her lips with his tongue, licking up her slit experimentally before thrusting his tongue inside as his grip on her ass and hip tightens when she starts to squirm from the sensations heating up her body.  
  
“Oh fuck, baby yes, gimme _more_ ,” she gasps, hands going down to grip his hair tightly, nails scraping into his scalp. It makes his hips jerk up as he obeys her command, sucking on her clit while thrusting two fingers deep inside her and it rips a whine from her throat, warmth flooding all throughout her body like a fire as he stretches her open with a third finger. The feeling of fullness from his three digits along with his ministrations on her clit pushes Lydia over the edge, finally coming as she shakes all over.  
  
Jordan doesn’t let up though, still licking and kissing as she rides his face blissfully until she comes down from her high, scooting off him. His face glistens with her juices and it makes her grin as she leans down and kisses him roughly, tasting herself on his tongue. Jordan groans against her mouth, arm wrapping around her naked waist to shift them so that she’s underneath. She smiles, looking up at him from underneath her lashes as she wraps her legs around his waist, urging him closer and feeling his erection rub against her wet folds. He teases her like that, letting their hips grind together as he leans down to suck on one of her breasts, dragging his teeth down her nipple slowly and she purrs pleasantly, melting into his touch.  
  
It’s almost a completely different side of her, the way she succumbs to his touches, because when it comes to killing, Lydia is messy. Sometimes she likes killing her victims fast but painfully, other times she likes giving them a slow torturous death, but either way _she’s_ the one in the control.  
  
But with Jordan, she gives up that control enough because he knows exactly how to make her fall apart at his fingertips and she doesn’t mind because she also knows that he’ll put her back together again. And sometimes that’s exactly what she needs after a kill.

Jordan kisses the sensitive skin of the underside of her breast, nips at it as he urges her legs open farther before he pushes into her in one full stroke, making a grunt release from his throat as Lydia cries out in pleasure and he presses kisses against her jaw. He pulls out, his cock already slick from how wet she is before snapping his hips back into her, setting up a steady rhythm. She moans loudly, breathless, cupping his face and smearing their lips together, kissing him with so much passion and desire that it almost seems like she’s starving from it. And at that moment, maybe she is.

She breathes his name, voice coming out ragged when his thrusts start to pick up frantically, sending sparks exploding through her body as she feels herself getting close, the warmth coiling low in her stomach ready to release, but she just needs something a little bit _more_. “Jordan-” she mewls, words coming up short as she gasps when he hits a particular spot, running her hands up and down his back desperately while digging her nails into the skin, leaving behind marks for sure.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans guttural with each pounding thrust, and it’s just about the hottest thing to her whenever she hears him curse. “I got you Lyds, I got you. God, you feel amazing.” He sounds just as breathless as her and without her even having to say anything, he gives her more. Hooking her legs over his shoulders and bending her knees back, he wraps himself around her and thrusts into her at this new angle, making him feel much deeper inside her than he already is, thrusting against a perfect bundle of nerves that has Lydia moaning sinfully, arching into him, and it’s enough to send her over the edge again. She screams her release, sounding beautiful to Jordan’s ears as he buries himself inside her, rutting into her erratically until he’s coming as well and kissing her until there’s blood in both their mouths.

 

 

&.

 

Even after a half hour has passed, Jordan’s still pressing kisses down her body, sucking on her pale flesh every now and then and leaving a scattering of hickeys across her chest. Lydia doesn’t mind of course as she watches him with a dazed expression, a small smiling curving the corners of her mouth as she runs her fingers through his mussed up hair until he gets to her belly.  
  
“What are we gonna name her?” he whispers as he glances up at her.  
  
Lydia raises an eyebrow. “Her? It’s only been six weeks, Jordan. It’s way too early to find out if it’s gonna be a girl.”

“But what if it is?”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “Then we’ll figure out a name when we find out it’s a girl.”  
  
“We could name her Allison,” he says, and the name immediately brings up the familiar image of a brunette girl in Lydia’s mind. Allison Argent. Her best friend, also the inspiration for the pseudonym she’d used tonight. She hasn’t seen her ever since she left Beacon Hills and now that she’s back, she can only wonder if she’s still here, if she’s still dating Scott Mccall, or if she’s far away at some university. It makes her wonder if her parents still live in the same neighborhood and part of her wants to check but she also knows she can’t. It’s too risky if someone recognizes her, too many questions she won’t be able to answer.  
  
“Maybe. And if it’s a boy?”  
  
He grins, “There’s always Jordan Jr. JJ for short.”  
  
Lydia scoffs, “There’s no way we’re calling our child _Jordan Jr._ ”

He laughs and then makes his way up her body, maneuvering them so that she’s slotted against his side, head resting on his chest. They fall into a comfortable silence and she smooths circles into his skin, wondering what time it is. There’s no clock in the room and they don’t have cell phones on them. They don’t keep anything that might leave a trail, or more importantly, show that they might exist. She hasn’t used her real name in years, even if it’s just to buy coffee at a Starbucks. Sometimes when she hears Jordan say it, it surprises her because that’s who she is. Maybe not Lydia Martin anymore, but still _Lydia._ The thought makes her think of her mother sometimes, wonders if the woman even thinks about her or not.

“Do you think we can do this?” She suddenly asks, surprising herself at her own question.

Jordan turns, looking at her. “Do what? Raise a baby?”

“Raise a baby while doing what we...do.” She’s always so confident about her killing, confident about Jordan hiding the bodies, but now that she thinks about it there’re so many questions that come up. Would they be able to provide for their child? Give it food? A home? Her and Jordan are technically hitchhikers who grab a ride when they can, sometimes killing their driver if they have to, and when they aren’t doing that, they’re driving around stolen cars all over California. There’s no stability in what they do and she knows that, that’s what she agreed to, but to add a child to the mix…  
  
It sounds even messier than the way she kills.

“Actually, I want to talk to you about that,” he suddenly says. “Because, I’ve been thinking...Maybe we should get out of here. For good.”

Her brows perk up in interest. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Get out of California. Go somewhere else and maybe settle down, start fresh,” he says, thumb stroking her cheek softly.  
  
She thinks about it. It sounds nice, almost a dream too good to be true. “Where would we go? And we sort of need money to start fresh you know.” From what she remembers, they only have about $500, including the $200 they snagged tonight, which isn’t a lot if you put in gas expenses, food, somewhere to stay for the night depending how far they would be going away from California.  
  
“Montana. It’s about a twenty hour drive and if we really push it, we can get there in a few days,” he tells her and the way he says it makes Lydia think that it’s been on his mind for a while.  
  
She caresses his cheek, “then what?”

He leans into her touch, “I...I didn’t plan that far ahead.” He smiles sheepishly and she laughs, actually laughs, and he buries his face in her shoulder slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, I know. It sounds dumb.”

She stops laughing and shakes her head, running her hands through his hair again. “No, no. I like it. Maybe, we can rent out a place. Something we can call home.” It almost sounds ridiculous when she says it since they don’t even have that much money, but it doesn’t mean she can’t think about it, hope for it.

“I could get a job,” Jordan says, glancing up at her. “And we could make a nursery room for the baby. Paint the walls blue, fill it with toys. Maybe.” 

She smiles. “I like that a lot. But…” She bites her lower lip, coming back to reality. “I need to think about it.”  
  
Jordan nods, understanding. “Yeah, take as much time as you need.” He kisses her then, long and deep before pulling away with a smile. “We’ll leave in a few hours. I was thinking going back down south for a while. Lay it low. Maybe, San Diego?”  
  
Lydia nods and smiles back. “That sounds good.”  
  
He gives her a quick peck one last time before lying back down next to her, wrapping a protective arm around her as she buries her face in the warmth of his chest. Jordan falls asleep easily and she listens to the rise and fall of his breathing in the darkness for how long, she doesn’t know.

 

 

&.

 

She must have fallen asleep sometime during the night and early morning because she wakes up to a small ray of sunlight streaming in through the thin curtains and spilling across the bed sheets. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and feels a beautiful soreness between her legs and as she sits up, she realizes quickly that the space next to her is empty. For a second, panic rises in her throat, it wouldn’t be the first time she thought of Jordan possibly getting up and leaving her (although whenever she thinks it, she would quickly dismiss it because if he wanted to leave he would tell her), but her panic disappears as soon as it comes because she turns and sees him sitting on the makeshift couch across from her.  
  
His back is facing her but Lydia can see him with their bag, making sure they have everything they need. She watches him for a few moments, just admiring his form in the old sweats he’s wearing, thinking back to their conversation from yesterday and she knows that he’ll make a great father. Finally, she slips out of the bed quietly, sheets falling from her body as she pads across the worn carpet to him, wrapping her arms around his torso when she gets close enough. Her breasts press against his back surprising him as he glances over his shoulder to look at her, smiling. “Morning,” he says and she catches the slight nervousness in his tone, probably from last night’s conversation before he kisses her.

“Morning,” she greets back, resting her chin on his shoulder as she watches him put all their possessions in the bag before zipping it back up.

“So, ready to go?”  
  
She hums as if thinking about it. “Not exactly. I think we’re going to have to buy a jacket or two. Maybe steal them if we have to.” He arches a brow at her, confused, and she smiles. “It gets cold this time of year in Montana, doesn’t it?”  
  
His eyes go wide at her, mouth slightly falling open in surprise and disbelief. She knows he wants to ask if she’s serious, or if she’s absolutely sure about this, but the silent confirmation from her eyes, the smile on her lips, and the small nod of her head is more than enough.

Last night she realized that the only reason she’s still here, still in California, still doing what she’s doing is because her past was tying her down to it. Stiles was responsible for who she’d become, for the monster that consumed her, but now that he’s dead, she doesn’t have to be that monster anymore.  
  
(She doesn’t have to dwell on the dark thoughts of her past anymore.)  
  
She has enough blood on her hands. And now, she wants to start over.

 

 

&.

 

Two weeks later, the police find the bodies of Stiles Stilinski and an unidentified man buried deep in the woods. The only evidence pertaining to their killer being the three centimeter wide holes punctured in the unidentified man’s head from a stiletto as the medical examiner states, and two queen of diamond cards slipped into the front pocket of each man’s jacket. The mark of the Red Queen serial killer.  
  
Two weeks later, Lydia and Jordan are long gone from California.

**Author's Note:**

> Lydia as a murderess and Jordan's basically clean up crew. How perfect is that?
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://lydiasdeputy.tumblr.com)


End file.
